Scrooges, Scarves and Snowballs
by Fishyicon
Summary: Despite the hero's morose attitude, Daxter is determined to give the big guy a Merry Christmas — by whatever means necessary. /One-shot. Some J/K. Christmas present for LeiaOrganicSolo; all are welcome.


**Disclaimer: Don't own it. Nope.**

**Christmas present for the one, the only, the totally-indescribably-amazingly-awesome LeiaOrganicSolo. Love you forever, short buddy!  
**

* * *

Daxter is abruptly awoken by a heavy shove to his drawer that doubled as an ottsel-sized sleeping compartment. He shoots upright, consequently smashing his head on the top of the dresser. This has become a usual waking ritual for him and the big guy, but it does not excuse the fact that Daxter has lost just a few too many brain cells in the last months.

"Would ya be a little more careful next time?" the ottsel cries indignantly, although he realizes Jak has probably meandered into the small kitchen by now. When no response follows, he sets about pulling on his aviator cap—like Jak's goggles, they're the only thing he retains from their old home. Both had been Christmas presents from the man that the boys had learn to call Jak's uncle, even though the youth and the explorer bore no distinguishable family resemblance. Christmas used to be Daxter's favourite time of year. In fact, it still is. But it is not likely that anyone else will muster any amount of excitement over the most wonderful time of the year. Daxter reckons it is unlikely most people in this war-driven, Precursor-forsaken, inaptly-named "Haven City" even know what Christmas is.

As he rubs the newest addition to the collection of bruises on his head gingerly and attempts to peal open his droopy eyelids, Daxter's gaze falls on a small inscription he's haphazardly scrawled into the worn wood of the drawer's interior: _December 24__th__, Christmas Eve!_

"Woo!" Daxter cheers. The drawer is left slightly ajar as per usual, and he can barely contain his excitement as he throws it open more and leaps out, landing deftly on the floor. He has forgotten to tie up the straps on the hat, but he rarely does, regardless. It has sculpted itself to fit his head snugly through the years. He does not need to worry about that. The only true thing that needs worrying about is whether or not Jak is aware of the date.

"Jak!" he calls sharply as he enters the kitchen of their small apartment, skidding to a halt in front of the fridge calendar Keira gave them. Yes, it's been confirmed. Today is Christmas Eve. "Come look at this!"

"Dax, listen," Jak begins, his voice still rough from sleep. The young hero makes no obvious move to dismount the stool at which he's seated, a glass of water on the crowded counter in front of him. "Sorry about the head banging, but in all honesty, you deserve a good smack to the cranium once in a while."

"I resent that comment." Daxter attempts to mask the giddiness with anger, but his voice betrays the true feelings. Jak does not seem to have picked up on his mood yet, though. "But that's not what I wanted to tell you. Come here! Look!"

Jak grunts as he swivels his chair to face the fridge behind him. His cropped hair is tousled, a few stray bits falling over his sleep-clouded eyes. He rubs his eyes and looks at Daxter, then at the refrigerator, before returning his gaze to the ottsel.

"What am I supposed to be looking at?" Jak asks. Daxter suppresses the urge to jump up to the counter and smack the big guy upside the head. Truly, he can be very . . . blond sometimes.

"Do you know what day it is?"

"No," Jak replies truthfully. Daxter rolls his eyes.

"It's Christmas Eve, you big log-head!" He exclaims. Jak does not react. Daxter sighs in what can only be described as defeat and exasperation. "Honestly, you and Samos are becoming more and more alike every day, I swear."

Jak shoots him a glare. Daxter, however, is well adapted to disregarding those looks. He is the subject of them too often not to have the capability of ignoring them. However, the following word really drives Daxter off the edge.

"So?"

"SO?" Daxter yells, exploding in a furry orange ball of anger. "_SO_, it's Christmas Eve! That means tomorrow is Christmas Day!" At this point, Jak mumbles something sarcastic. Daxter ignores it once more, but his patience is running thin. He swears the next time Jak insults him or his beloved holiday, he will go pull those ears off. "That means today we've gotta get presents, and find a tree, and get something tasty to eat for tomorrow—hey, do you think we might be able to dig out some decorations in the attic? Or do you think the old owners of this place would have packed them away? Probably not, I mean . . . hey, Jak? Are you even listening?"

Clearly, Jak is not, as Daxter perks up just in time to see the last of his form disappear through the door to the bedroom.

"And just where do you think you're going?" Daxter inquires in his high-pitched chirp as he marches after his friend into the adjacent room. Jak is foraging through the various hiding places, searching for . . . his armour and weapons? On Christmas? Unacceptable.

Daxter cannot believe Jak's lack of enthusiasm towards Christmas. When they lived in Sandover, the boys would always be the first ones awake, jumping down from their loft in the hut and sinking to their knees in front of the Christmas tree, greedy hands rummaging through the compilation of poorly wrapped gift for ones that were labelled with their names. Keira would join them a few moments later, beaming brilliantly. The three children played around the hut until daybreak, when Samos would finally tire of their antics and push them out the door, where they continued to play for hours, finding different ways to use all of their presents together.

"Jak, what are you doing?"

"Torn said he needs help getting some new equipment moved into the HQ uptown. You know; muscle-work." Jak shrugs. Then he glances at Daxter. "What?"

The ottsel wears a still mask of complete abhorrence. First, there was the lack of fervour. Acceptable, he supposes. Then the fact that the man has not even so much as smiled all morning. But this is too much. "Oh, no. No, no, no. You and Torn—actually, just you. I could care less what the Tattooed Wonder decides to do on Christmas, the old Scrooge—are not working today of all days. You are coming with me to spread some Christmas cheer, or so help me, I will _force you!_ And it will not be painless!"

Jak laughs coldly. "Yeah, right."

Suddenly, the ottsel scampers up the dresser and launches himself onto his friend's head. He latches on to the long pointy ears and yanks back on them, using them to his advantage as he steers Jak's head around to the exit door.

"All right, _march_, big guy! I told you we were going whether you wanted to or not!"

"Dax—" Jak begins.

"No questions! Just walk!"

Genuinely terrified of having his ears ripped clean off his head, Jak obliges and heads out the front door. The two are instantly hit by an oncoming wave of wind and snow, shielding their eyes with their exposed hands—and paws, in Daxter's case—to the onslaught of cold. Jak rushes back into the haven of their home.

"But first, bundle up!" Daxter rephrases. Jak rolls his eyes.

* * *

An hour later, the dynamic duo find themselves wandering through the north marketplace, the only one that had been rebuilt since the Metal Heads destroyed half the city not a year and a half ago. The wear of the city shows on the faces of the citizens, scarcely able to find the courage and perseverance in themselves to continue on, to strive for better. But Daxter is determined not to think of this. This is a merry time of year, and he is going to make himself enjoy it, if only for Jak's sake.

"Man, this is the life, eh?" Daxter announces, stretching out his arms, careful not to knock Jak with one of them from his perch near the man's head. He fixes the scarf around his neck. It serves no purpose other than to keep the snow from filling his mouth and obstructing his speech. All that fur is helpful, after all. Jak, on the other hand, is sporting a pair of full finger gloves (which he claims he does not like, since he prefers his fingers to be free), a heavier scarf, and a jacket.

"Yeah. Cold biting at your skin, snow getting in your eyes, all the places shutting down, furnaces shooting out tons of fumes. Doesn't get much better than this," Jak says with dripping sarcasm. Daxter regrets his earlier caution to not hit him in the head.

"Cheer up, Jak ol' buddy! Or you're not going to be on the Nice List this year!" Daxter encourages.

He feels Jak's shoulders shake slightly as he chuckles. He begins to speak, but something—rather, someone—catches Daxter's eye before his friend can form a full word on his frostbitten lips.

"Hey, Keira!" Daxter calls brightly, waving Jak's . . . well, _girlfriend_ is not the correct word, but the only reason it is not is some strange shyness around the other, which really has to signify the pair have true feelings for each other.

Her head, adorned with a pair of violet earmuffs, perks up immediately at the sounds of Daxter's voice, and her mouth offers the pair a warm, genuine smile. She drops the knick-knack she is holding, perfunctorily thanks the shopkeeper without meeting his eyes and sprints over to meet the boys.

"Hey, Jak," she greets, ignoring Daxter. He coughs deliberately to clue her in. "Oh, you too, Daxter." Her eyes return immediately to Jak's. "Cold out, isn't it?"

"Not with you too around," Daxter breathes, and hops off the shoulder-plate, the only piece of armour he allowed Jak to wear outside today. "If you'll excuse me, I'm just gonna go look at something over there . . ."

He wanders off to a corner of the market square, fully aware that neither Jak nor Keira is even paying him a shred of attention. _Figures,_ he thinks. He peeks behind him to see that Keira has struck up a fairly one-sided conversation with the blond. Jak seems too immersed in her eyes to have any attention remaining to lend to listening to her. That also means he is not watching Daxter as he gathers a bunch of sticky snow and hits Jak in the side of the head with it.

"Score!"

"Oh, you've got it in for yourself now, Dax!" Jak warns playfully as he exchanges an amused glance with Keira, smiles knowingly, and packs together his own handful of moist snow. This is already turning out to be one of the best Christmases ever. Daxter grins to himself as he runs away, avoiding Jak's fixed gaze.

No way is he ever going to admit he was aiming for Keira . . .

**

* * *

Ha, and you thought I was lying when I told you I didn't have anything for you, Leia. . . . Sadly mistaken, dearest. I hope you enjoyed it! Love you, honey. **

**Merry Christmas, LeiaOrganicSolo, and everyone else who's celebrating this year, including EcoSeeker247 an DarkEcoMuse! Have a Happy Holidays!**

**Enjoy! Best wishes from Fishyicon!**


End file.
